The Game
by Starbuck0322
Summary: Cal Lightman finds out quickly he's going to have to work hard to win her heart. - Originally posted in my one shot collection "Back to You" I have continued the story to include multiple chapters. Rated M for fun!
1. Tag! You're it!

**The Game**  
_by Starbuck0322_

* * *

Originally posted in my one shot collection entitled "Back to You"... I have continued the story...  
If you've missed the first chapter... here it is.

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_Tag! You're It!_

* * *

"Again, Cal! Really?"

Gillian Foster threw the blue file onto the desk where Cal Lightman sat. His feet were crossed at the ankles and rested on his desk. His hands were folded neatly in his lap.

"You sneaky devil," Cal diverted her death stare. "You've been into my safe again."

Gillian's hands flew from her side. "You could have at least used a different file folder."

"You could have at least stayed out of my safe."

"You never changed the combination code."

Cal cocked his head and pursed his lips. "Good point, Doctor."

Gillian stared at him for a time. Finally her brow furrowed. "Don't divert this Cal Lightman. I am seriously pissed off with you."

Cal nodded and uncrossed his legs, resting them back on the floor. He slapped his knees and stood. "And I can see that darling but I'm not sorry."

"Sorry?" Gillian crossed her arms in front of her, inhaling deeply. "This is going beyond just a little apology, Cal. How long have you been looking into him?"

Cal began to move around his desk. "How long have you been seeing him?"

Gillian raised an eyebrow. "3 months."

Cal nodded; his lips puckered. "Right. 'Bout 3 months, then."

"3 months." Gillian repeated.

Her hands flew to her hair. Frustrated, she grasped her neck, massaging her tight muscles. Cal did not move toward her. He stood still; a satisfied nod shaking his features.

"Well," Cal began, breaking the silence. "He's no good for you, Foster. Too squeaky."

"Squeaky. Is that so?"

"So." Cal inhaled. "And he smells bad."

"He smells bad."

"He's got this real knack for being a mooch. He's a sucker."

"A mooch and a sucker."

Cal motioned toward her with palms open. He took a step forward. "You know, for a psychologist, you're doing a real crappy job with this whole conversing thing."

Gillian took a step forward meeting him face-to-face. "You think that maybe it's because I'm trying to do everything in my power right now, not to tear off your head."

"Ooooo!" Cal leaned back balancing on his heels. His face lit with excitement. "You see? Right there? That's the fire, the spunk that you're not going to find with this new guy."

"I won't, will I?"

"Nah." Cal smiled. "He's never going to know the real Foster. I mean the man can't even get your breakfast order right?"

Gillian's face turned hot; tension rising. "You followed us for breakfast?"

"He doesn't know your flowers. Can't get your pizza right," and off Gillian's scowl, "The man can't even open the car door for you." Gillian blushed, looking away from him. "And we all know how much you like that stuff, eh Gill?"

"Back off, Cal." Her eyes brimmed with tears.

"What?"

She took a step toward him. "Back off."

"You know what you need, darling?"

Gillian stayed motionless.

"You need some snoggin' and shaggin'." Cal looked her over and shook his shoulders, his arms flapping loose. "You're all tense."

Gillian clenched her teeth. Her eyes were dark, threatening.

Cal's face began to flush, he inhaled quickly. "I mean. What's he gonna do when you finally reveal all your little fetishes, Foster? He's gonna run for the hills. Especially when you pull out the gag and rope."

The motion was quick; all a blur to Cal. A hook from the right making perfect contact with her intended. Cal fell backward after receiving the blow, only regaining his balance at the last minute.

"Damn," she said shaking her hand. She looked down at her knuckles as her hand trembled.

Cal looked at her cautiously and smiled. "I was expecting the slap."

Her eyes widened. "Surprise."

Cal exhaled quickly and took a step back toward her. He rolled his jaw, attempting to regain the feeling there.

"So, no gag then?" He stood in front of her now; close enough to feel her breath on his skin. "High leather boots? A whip?"

He was quicker this time, and greeted her open hand, holding her wrist. She tried with her other hand. Again, he caught her wrist. She inhaled quickly, closing her eyes for only a moment, which was long enough for him to press his weight against her, pushing her against the nearby wall.

"Did I strike a nerve, love?"

"What would make you say that?"

"You're shaking. Body temperature is high. Cheeks are flushed; lips pouty."

She smiled nervously through clenched jaw. "Let me go, Cal."

"Are you going to hit me?"

"Are you going to continue to invade my privacy?"

"Quite possibly."

"Well then, there's the strong likelihood that I could hit you."

He searched her face, looked into her eyes, "Could, eh?"

She nodded.

"Well then," he said. "I do believe I'll take my chances."

He leaned into her pressing his body against her. His lips were on her instantly finding her lips. She tasted sweet and inviting. She tasted like candy and he wondered what she had just consumed to make her taste this good, which one of her favourite sweets she had recently indulged in.

She attempted to pull away from him, finding nothing but wall behind her, his lips in front of her. Her hands were still bound by his grip. She twisted her hands in his grasp, but her attempts to free herself were fruitless. He only held her more tightly.

Cal pulled from her, his face flush, eyes wide with excitement. He said nothing and looked into her, saw the fury which ran thick across her brow, the embarrassment that plagued her features.

"Are you finished?" she asked him, caged fury seeping into her words. She rolled her wrists in his grasp.

Cal exhaled quickly, his face going slack. His sights traveled the length of her. "Well..." he began, his mind wandering, hungry hands which lingered on the soft flesh of her lower back. He inhaled. "Yeah. I'm done."

"Can you let me go now?"

He cocked his head. "Are you going to hit me?"

"Yes," she nodded; spoke in monotone. "Most definitely."

Cal looked up weighing his options. "All right." Slowly he removed his hands from her wrists and took a quick step backward.

He expected her fists to fly at him, expected the rage to flow from her, but Gillian Foster only stood tall and adjusted her shirt.

She did not meet his gaze, and instead reached forward to pick the blue folder from his desk.

"You really are a jerk, Cal Lightman." She took a step toward him. Mockingly, he took a further step back.

"Dr. Lightman," he corrected. "And I'm fully aware. Been told that one before."

She sighed and tapped the folder with her index finger. "You're just a kid on the playground with a crush and you have no idea what you're doing."

"You're still here, aren't you?"

She ignored his statement.

"You hide behind your work, _'the name on the door',_ as you so graciously refer to it. You hold it over everyone's head because you're too afraid to let anyone in. You're too afraid to admit you need help; that maybe some of us can do this better than you. And you're so distracted by this game you're playing, that you don't even see the big picture."

"And what's that?"

She stood taller now, completely in doctor mode. "That everyone here respects you; wants to learn from you. That everyone wants to be here."

He took a small step toward her. "And you want to be here?"

Gillian shifted her weight. "We all want to be here, Cal. If not, some of us would have left years ago."

"Just a kid on the playground, eh." He looked up at her slowly. "With my playground crush."

"Exactly. It's sad really. It's so painstakingly apparent that you get a kick out of this game, that you forget the obvious truth."

"Which is?"

"That all you ever had to do was ask."

"Ask?"

"Plain and simple."

Cal racked his brain; mulled over her words. He licked his lips; he could still taste her and this brought another smile to his lips.

"Is this about the folder?"

Gillian sighed, took a step around him and walked toward his office door. "You really can't stop, can you?"

"'Fraid not, love. Not with you."

She turned to him pointing a finger. "And that's why this will never work."

"No," he said shifting his weight. "This will never work because you seem to be spending your time with low grade, losers, who don't have the passion to stand next to you. They're not worthy."

Gillian put one hand on the handle to his office door. "Marcus was not a low grade, loser. And I'll spend my time with whomever I choose, at whatever time of my choosing. It's my life, Cal."

Cal stood twitching, nodding his head. Suddenly he froze; his heart beat hammered into his head. "Marcus was?"

"We split up three weeks ago." Gillian threw the file to the floor at his feet, its contents spilling out. "Funny. I couldn't find that information in the file." She opened the door quickly. "I suggest you revise your tactics, Dr. Lightman, or this might be the last thing you see."

And with that, Gillian turned, leaving him standing stock still; his jaw clenched, hands sweaty at his side. He studied her as she turned the corner, hips swinging.

Slowly, lines tightened on his face; a sly grin began to form.

"Game's on, Doctor."


	2. Close Quarters

_For Endless-Summar... who wanted this to continue..._

* * *

_Close Quarters_

_

* * *

_

Their accused left the bright lights of The Cube behind, descended the stairs exiting the room. Handkerchief in hand, she was followed quickly by Ria Torres who looked behind her as the door closed to The Cube.

Their heated interview now over, Cal remained deep in thought as he watched Gillian eloquently scribble notes in front of him.

She sighed and crossed her legs, shuffled papers in front of her on the metal table.

Despite being fresh from their argument of earlier, and the image of her hips swinging as she left his office vivid in his head, his thoughts travelled far from her slender legs, her muscular calves.

His tumultuous love affair with Zoe had given him his Emily, someone who he couldn't live without, and he was glad that the little bundle placed in his arms those many years ago, was her. He considered himself blessed, lucky for making the decision that gave him his Em.

But Zoe was effort. She was arguments, and effort, and late nights, and effort, and banishment to the couch, and effort, and assumptions. Even if his skills hadn't allowed him the confrontation that would eventually bring about the demise of his marriage, a confrontation that allowed him at least three more months of a marriage without lies and deceit, he wouldn't change a day. While the love he and Zoe shared was the love for Emily, it was enough to last even for a short time, enough to give Emily a stable development, until she was old enough to learn the truth of her parents' lacklustre love affair.

But he regretted those years left without love in his life; felt cheated without the chance to hold someone, the chance to kiss someone goodnight.

And the hurt would bubble. The hurt would spill from him.

But even after all those years of regret, all the love he never allowed himself to have there was one constant.

More than just an option, Gillian Foster was the only one who made any sense in his life.

Gillian had never hurt him. Had never so much as asked for a shoulder when she needed it. She kept the line they kept revisiting visible, taut. She kept it secure. Had built it up to something that Cal regretted. Something that Cal now needed an axe to cut down.

And now as they remained in The Cube in their sheltered silence, Gillian with her legs crossed, not a single wrinkle in her clothing, Cal sighed and let his shoulders fall forward.

He watched her eyes harden, her lip pull at the sides of her mouth as she felt him watching her. He watched her swallow, watched the effect it had on her smooth white neck.

She clicked her pen and without turning toward him, afraid of what his face would reveal to her, opened her mouth. "What," she asked; the heat from their earlier argument heavy in her tone.

The air pushed from his lungs as his brain wrapped around her small intricacies. "Just watchin', darlin', that's all."

She smiled casually and twisted toward him in her chair. "Could you stop? It's a distraction."

"You're the distraction, love."

The heat rose to her cheeks and the red filled in the spaces between her freckles. Her eyes fluttered as she reached up to brush her hair from her face; Gillian's not so subtle way of showing that his intentions were working in his favour.

"So what's your take on the bridesmaid?" she asked avoiding his eyes, looking down at her notes. "Did you hear her slight change in pitch when she mentioned the groom? There was the tiniest hint of remorse in there."

Cal smiled and moved toward the door. He sauntered with shoulders forward and removed his hand from his pocket to enter a set of codes on the illuminated keypad by the door. The room dissolved into white, and he turned back to Gillian, to the confusion that sat heavy on her features.

"What's going on, Cal?" she asked, tension returning to her tone.

He moved toward her swung and slumped in the chair beside her. He placed his elbow on the table, rested his head in his hand.

"I don't want to talk about work, love," he said honestly, looked on her with softness in his eyes.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"You," he smiled.

"You're funny."

"You see me laughing?"

She smiled nervously and looked from him, and in Gillian Foster fashion, flicked her heel, tightening her calf muscle. He was enticingly aware of her carefully placed movements.

She knew he was watching her as she folded her hands in her lap, straightened her shoulders. His words, his tone, told her that he was serious. His body was relaxed, his eyes soft as he trailed her figure, her lines and curves, made her aware of every breath she took. She felt exposed, naked.

She watched as he took her in, read her lines, followed her shape, and when he focused on the soft lines at the corner of her mouth, her lips as they parted for him, she held up a hand and stood abruptly.

"No!" she exhaled nervously. "You're not allowed to do that."

He smiled with boyish charm and ran his hands over his face as she paced toward the exit. Her hands wrapped around the door handle and she pushed on the door. She pressed a sequence of buttons, looked back to him as she tried the handle again. It did not budge.

"Cal," she warned unimpressed. "Open the door."

She tried the door again, turned to find him approaching. She pushed her hands to his chest, kept the inches between them before he had a chance to press fully against her.

She cursed herself suddenly, at her own weakness building low in her belly. How had she allowed him back so easily to tread across her thoughts? And the way he was looking at her?

_Damn_, she sighed.

He had opened her like a book.

He rocked his hips toward her, reached up to carefully take her right hand from his chest. His fingertips touched her carefully and she surrendered so readily to him that the air sucked from her, spilled over him heatedly.

_Damn._

He carefully brought her hand to his lips, not taking his eyes from her. She shook unwillingly and pushed against the door begging for retreat.

He pressed kisses against her knuckles. "How's the hand?"

She swallowed the lump formed in her throat and his eyes diverted from her face, trailed to rest on her chest as it rose heavily.

_Damn._

"Open the door, Cal," she repeated weakly.

If he heard her, he made no sign of it, transfixed by the colour of her skin, the freckles that lined her skin, exposed fully to him by her plunging neckline. He could count every one.

He was mesmerised by her throat as she sucked for air. Her eyes which shook, begged for flight. He wondered what her reaction would be if he trailed her long neck with his tongue, scraped his teeth carefully against her skin, to make her shiver, gravitate toward him.

He could see the fight within her. Her barriers were finally melting in front of him. It was apparent in the way the hollow at the base of her throat pulled inward as she struggled for composure.

Her hand shot behind her to the door and she felt blindly for the handle.

_Freedom_, she thought.

His hands pushed back the panels of her suit jack, found the base of her shirt. He spread his hands over her hips, dipped within the fabric, and her warm flesh greeted his fingertips.

"You're shaking, Foster."

"Am not."

He smiled, felt her vibrate in front of him as the emotion passed over her.

Suddenly, she shook her head and something changed within her. She pushed his hands from her hip and shifted toward him.

Gone was her heated arousal. Her skin returned to normal.

Only her desperate frustration remained.

"Open the door," she ordered.

He leaned against her even though he didn't need to, pressed the buttons on the keypad to reveal a sequence of musical notes. She watched his fingers as they moved swiftly over the keypad. He reached behind her back to push down on the handle.

Cool air greeted them and she left him quickly, descended the stairs gracefully.

Gillian stopped in her tracks for a moment, came face-to-face with the innocent features of Anna. The young girl stood with a folder pressed to her chest, her eyes wide with amazement having witnessed something between her two bosses.

"Doctor Foster," Anna choked. "There's a call for you. He says its urgent."

Gillian continued toward her and without missing a beat, "Thank you Anna. I'll take it in my office." She moved forward, toward the exit and turned slightly on her heel. "Oh and Anna," Gillian added. "Do me a favour and have the security codes changed in The Cube." She glared toward Cal who was descending the narrow stairs.

"Sure thing, Dr. Foster."

"And another thing Anna."

"Yes, Dr. Foster."

"Don't tell Dr. Lightman the new codes."

Gillian turned on her heel and walked briskly toward her office.


	3. Desire

_Desire_

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_

He inched forward down busy hallways to stand out of sight, and hovered outside the door of Gillian Foster's office. He stepped backward, hid behind the thick door frame, and the wall that protruded from it.

He watched her as she reached the cabinetry beside her desk, pulled a bottle with pump from within. She pressed the phone in her hand to her shoulder and pumped lotion into her palm. She sat at her desk and rubbed her hands together gingerly.

Cal leaned into the shadow of the doorway transfixed by her fluid motions.

She raised her leg and let long dexterous fingers glide smoothly over her sun-kissed skin.

Gillian Foster had a gift; one she was fully aware of, one she took great pride in maintaining.

Rarely hidden beneath long pants, her legs were often on showcase. Her tailored skirts only heightened, intrigued the mindsets of those around her. Muscular calves fit from running, contracted with distinction. She turned heads; was the object of desire.

_But those legs._

_Oh, to have the chance to touch them. _

His fingertips would glide over skin as soft as silk, resisting the urge to submerge himself, to give into hunger. Steadily, surely, he would inch up, over her muscles as they twitched, body giving into the passion stirring within her, gripping her middle, driving her desire forward. Her sugary smell inviting him onward, taking him over, until the stars would fly across his mind, making his world turn white, bringing him closer to release. Edging forward, he would devour her; take her fully with tongue and lips until she moaned his name.

_Those legs_, he thought. _His bloody aphrodisiac_.

To any man, it was difficult to ignore Gillian's radiance. It glowed. It poured. Radiant blues that seemed to soften with the slightest of ease; she begged for attention.

Her girlish charm was enough to have any man pining for her, reduced to putty in her hands. And when she smiled, the world seemed to melt into nothingness, seemed to rid itself of all its problems. There was only her, her and no other. The craving would never cease, would billow deep within, making them ache toward her like a never-ending thirst.

It boggled his mind why no one had claimed her yet. Why no one had realised this beauty, her grace, and taken hold of her. He felt it now as he watched her lather her calf, head tilted as she smiled into the receiver. Gillian Foster had taken a hold of something within him, and its tethers refused to break.

Her loveliness rained upon him in waves. He reached up to press an open palm gently against his face where she had hit him. He would take a thousand times the hits if it meant he could get a reaction from her. The ever-prim, ever-proper Gillian Foster would be his.

The confidence fell from him suddenly as he watched her blush and tilt her head to flick her hair. Gillian with lips tight grinned into the phone, two rows of teeth showing. _A genuine smile_, Cal thought sadly; Gillian was indeed impressed, flattered by the caller on the other end of the line.

He pulled himself from hiding and she caught sight of him, and the smile faded from her face as her happy lines fell. He pushed on her door, was quick enough to hear, "I'll have to call you back," disappointment ringing true in her voice. "Later," she said lowering her voice, smiling slightly. "Yes, I'll call you later."

He caught the genuine smile, and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, knowing he was transfixed on her.

She placed both feet on the floor and stood, returned the lotion to its cabinet.

"Cal..." she offered.

"Foster."

"Can I help you with something?" She sighed.

"Was I interrupting somethin'?" he asked sauntering forward. "Anything at all?"

"What do you want Cal?"

"Important business of some sort?"

"Cal..."

He approached her desk, amazed with how she stood behind it defensively. "Dirty secret, Foster?"

She glared at him, brow pushed together. Her chin protruded and her teeth clenched tightly.

A light rapping on the door made her lift her glare from him, and she sighed slightly in relief as Anna appeared behind a large bouquet of red roses on the other side of her glass door. Gillian rushed to the door and opened it for Anna who entered with the smell of a two dozen, long-stemmed roses.

"These just came for you," Anna said placing them on Gillian's desk. "There's a card."

Anna fixed her shirt and reached in her pocket to pull out a small card. She handed it to Gillian.

"Bloody brilliant," Cal groaned taking in the sight of the large bouquet.

Gillian ignored him and opened the small card, smiled as she read it and reached up to fix her hair. She blushed slightly as the colour flushed her cheeks. She leaned forward and inhaled the aroma.

"Lovely," she said.

"Don't be daft," Cal said with a chuckle.

"Excuse me," Gillian spat stepping away from her gift.

One hand in his pocket, the other distastefully gestured toward the roses. "They're bloody wrong, love."

Her mouth opened, anger beginning to take hold of her. "And how would you know?"

"Who're they from, Gillian?" he asked with disdain. He pulled himself into her, inhaled the lotion on her hands. "Let me guess..."

She continued her glare took a step back avoiding his attack. She stepped around her desk reclaiming her distance. "They're from Marcus," she said truthfully. "And I'd thank you to leave, Cal." She watched as Anna edged nervously toward the exit and slinked through the glass door. "I have a ton of work to do."

"I thought you said it was over," Cal said, successfully sheltering the hurt in his voice.

She pulled the bouquet toward her, aligned it perfectly beside her. "If you must know, he wants to talk. Over dinner. Tonight."

Cal smiled. "That's great, love."

She tilted her head. "You're full of it." She shook her head.

"Full of what?"

"Shit." She shifted in her stance and he watched as she rebuked him with her authoritative demeanour. Gently, she ran her fingers over the knuckles on her right hand. "Are we done?" she asked again.

"You gonna let him wine and dine you?" he asked outrightly.

"I highly doubt that is any of your business," she snapped.

"Over what?" he asked his face turning to disgust. "A bunch of bloody roses."

She glared at him.

"Really?" he snapped. "Is this..." He tugged at a single petal until it released and held it up for her. "This all it takes Gillian?" Her name rang with spite. "This all it takes to get up your skirt."

The air sucked from the room as her cold, dark stare shot back at him. The muscles on her face tightened and her eyes narrowed. "Get out," she said coldly.

He nodded slowly as he saw he only had one option. "Fine, love. Have it your way?" He turned his back on her and gripped the handle to her door. "But I told you the flowers were wrong, Foster." He turned to look at her over his shoulder. "I would have brought you calla lilies." He opened the door and left her.

Arms swinging widely by his side, she watched until he disappeared from view.

Safe and alone, she released the air she was holding and let her shoulders fall forward. Mouth agape, she shook slightly as the tears formed in her eyes, and she released them willingly as she sat back in her chair, easing her shaky knees.


	4. The Dinner

_The Dinner_

* * *

Safe within the shadows of the posh restaurant, Cal Lightman sank low in his booth. He didn't feel like eating tonight. He had no time to think over the pasta alla carbonara or the tortellini alla panna, or what type of dish was best served with the pricey Barolo. His mind was on other, more pressing matters.

He gazed across the restaurant to the happy couple enjoying their too-expensive-for-his-liking Italian meal. He watched as the woman brought her hand to her chest, played unknowingly with the chain around her neck. She dropped the necklace from her dexterous fingertips, bowed her head girlishly as she blushed. Cal was distracted as the woman's jewelled pendant fell to rest on the curve of her breast, as her hand came to her face to playfully push her hair from her face.

Something drew Cal's attention away from his intended, and he turned toward the motion, to the hands that waved to him.

His intern, Sarah, smiled nervously as she approached his booth.

"'Bout bloody time you got here."

"I'm sorry," Sarah said plopping down beside him. "Traffic was slow."

Cal grimaced. "Wha-?"

"I said _traffic_ _was_ _slow_."

"You'll have to speak up." Cal looked around her, focussed on the table ahead of him. "Can't understand you through your mumblin'."

"I wasn't mumbling."

"Whatever you say, darling."

"Exactly."

He stared back blankly, and looked back toward the couple who were engaged in a happy conversation.

"What's for dinner?" she asked sitting.

As she sat across from him, his eyes grew wide. He reached for her arm and pulled her forward, to rest flush against him in the booths shadow. "Object of the game, right...," his hand motioned between them. "We're going for inconspicuous here."

"An inconspicuous dinner?"

Cal gripped her chin and turned her face in the direction he had been staring.

Across the room, under the dim lighting, she could make out a well-dressed couple sharing a candle-lit meal. It took her only a moment to recognise Cal's intended; to decipher the plan he had in mind.

"We're spying on Dr. Foster?" she exclaimed turning toward him with disgust. "You can count me out." She grabbed her purse and began to pull away from him, inching around the booth.

He reached forward and grabbed her arm. "Leave now and consider yourself fired. Your choice."

She looked down to his hand wrapped around her arm and shook from his grasp. "You don't pay me enough as is," she exclaimed.

"What?" he asked over the clinking of glasses, the polite dinner conversation.

She rolled her eyes. "Never mind." She continued inching away from him.

She was about to stand when he raised his hands in protest. "Wait! Wait!" he said lifting his voice carefully above the nearby chatter. When she turned back to him, clearly unimpressed, he motioned to the space beside him. "Sit. I'll make it worth your while."

He didn't wait for her to sit, instead turned his sights back to Gillian, watched carefully as she smiled and wrapped her lips around her red wine glass. They were close enough for him to read her face, the lines, the creases, the flirtatious pulls at the side of her lips.

He could read her body language as she flirted, as she dined. He could tell by the way she flicked her tongue out to lick her lips, the way she carefully placed each morsel in her mouth and chewed slowly; Gillian Foster was enjoying her evening.

He could read her body language all night, watch each steady rise and fall from her shoulders, each intake of breath. But there was one thing he was terrible at, reading her lips.

_Those lips._

He closed his eyes and remembered the way they felt against him. Velvety smooth... the warmth of her tongue on his... the small of her back against his hand... her struggle for control... the freckles that lined her chest... her neckline that left little for his imagination to decipher...

"Dr. Lightman?"

"Wha-?"

He turned to Sarah who motioned beside him.

A young woman in a white blouse and black pants stood beside him; a dark red apron tied around her waist. "Can I get you something to start?" she asked politely.

Cal waved the server away. "Nah. Nuthin' for me." His sights fell back to Gillian and he saw her gracefully twirl pasta onto her fork and place it in her mouth.

_That mouth._

The noise of the room seemed to dissolve around him as he looked back to Gillian, squinted through the dim lighting to read the lines on her face. Something gripped him from within as he watched her laugh.

_Damn._

How long had it been since he had made her laugh? Made her smile? Since he had felt that joyous feeling in his gut when he knew he had brightened her day; when she made the world melt into nothingness with the playful tones of her laughter, and he could just remain caught in the moment as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing did matter in those times; nothing but her and those radiant blues.

How long had it been since she had raised her shoulder flirtatiously as she was doing now?

Another familiar sign that Marcus was playing his cards right.

A touch to his arm shook him from his trance, and he turned toward Sarah, to the look of confusion that plagued her features.

"Wha-?" Cal asked annoyed.

"So about this deal..." Sarah pressed.

* * *

The night progressed. Cal, at the urgency of Sarah, ordered a main course. It remained untouched. His beer, much to his own chagrin, grew warm in front of him.

Nothing else mattered at this time. He had to know; had to see how the evening would turn out, see if all cards would be laid down on the table.

The evening developed on its initial small conversation, on the quiet flirtations, and continued through to their current discussion on the recent events in their lives.

With each tilting of Gillian's head, Sarah moved back and forth between her and Marcus, receiving a much better view to read Gillian's lips than Marcus'. With each relay of the comfortable conversation, Cal grew more and more impressed with his young intern's talent. Steadily, she read each part of the conversation, helped him along as if he were sitting at the table with the couple.

Gillian and Marcus discussed the recent rise and fall of the market, to which Gillian returned feigned interest. They rambled on through his family, his mother, who's health was failing. They even talked about the most recent win by the Washington Wizards which had Gillian grimacing, and faking sadness at their most recent struggle and another year without the playoffs.

_Lakers, you twit. _Cal thought. _She likes the Lakers._

Sarah paused in her account and Cal looked up to watch her take another forkful of Pasta al pomodora and chew slowly. She looked to Cal from the corner of her eye.

"And..." Cal urged.

Sarah swallowed slowly. "They've changed the topic."

"To?"

Sarah swallowed again. "You."

Cal looked back to Gillian and read the change in her features. He watched as she sat back in her seat, and looked down to her hands. Cal lowered his voice. "What's she sayin'?" Sadness sank heavily in his words.

Sarah watched carefully and Cal turned to her to watch her lips move silently. She shrugged her shoulders and returned her attention to the plate in front of her, happily took another forkful of pasta.

"Well?" Cal encouraged.

Sarah's brow pulled together. "It can't all be rainbows and unicorns, you know."

Cal stared blankly. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" He narrowed his eyes. "Do... You... Speak... English?"

Sarah released her fork and dropped her hands to her lap. Her shoulders slumped forward.

"Doctor Foster says that working with you has been a struggle. That you have been difficult and self-serving. That you and her can't see eye-to-eye and she isn't sure if she can handle it for much longer. She says she is losing her patience. And...How did she put it?" Sarah paused, raking her brain for the words. "She said she didn't want to ruin their evening by talking about _something so trivial_."

Sarah looked back to Gillian and they watched her nod and smile at Marcus. "She also says that Sarah is a lovely addition and that she would recommend giving her a..." She looked at Cal from the corner of her eye. When he returned bewilderment, she shrugged her shoulders. "Can't blame me for trying."

Dessert was served and the check was given, and it wasn't long after that when Gillian reached beside her and grabbed her purse.

Cal found himself intern-less, and he dipped his head from side-to-side attempting to see around the bodies that busily passed him by.

Marcus stood and buttoned his suit jacket. He turned to Gillian and helped her from her seat. She gingerly looped her hand through the arm he offered her and returned a smile heavily altered with the effects of wine.

_An inexpensive wine_, Cal thought bitterly. Again, Marcus had failed to pay attention.

Cal threw money down on the table unaware of the sizeable tip he was leaving. Just as he was about to leave, Sarah returned from the Ladies Room to find Cal walking from her.

"Hey," she said loudly and looked in the direction of Gillian's empty table. She waited for Cal to turn to her.

"What?"

"Where to now?"

Cal sauntered toward her and raised his hand in her direction. "_Home_. That's where."

Sarah looked toward the exit, and found a giggling Gillian with her arm looped in Marcus'. "Home. _Right_."

Cal stood upright, placed a hand over his heart. "Boy Scout's honour."

"You were never a Boy Scout."

Cal narrowed his eyes on her. "You checkin' up on me?"

Her eyes opened wide. Her mouth fell innocently. "No. No idea what you're talking about."

He nodded slowly, searched her eyes. "Good. Night then." He turned from her.

"You should just go home, you know." She took a step towards him and stopped, looking down at the couple beside her whose dinner had been interrupted by her conversation with Cal. "Sorry," she sighed, and looked up to find Cal waving, grinning childishly as he exited the restaurant.

* * *

The rain beat. The rain poured. It fell like a torrent around him on the vacant street with nothing illuminated but for a few street lamps.

He had followed the couple, had kept his distance as best he could. He was stealthy, and used his ability to turn off his headlights to creep along after them.

He watched as they ran together through the pouring rain, to the safety of her front door. He watched as they giggled together and adjusted their jackets at her front stoop. He watched as Marcus drew a hand to her face and pushed aside a wet lock of hair.

And with his window cracked, he watched the nervousness tightening her face.

They had grown quiet in their comfort, in the darkness of the night and the dim lights of her apartment. He saw shadows moved, ignored the twisting in his gut and the images plagued his mind. He closed his eyes, cursed them, willed them away.

"You have to be kidding me."

"Oi!" He jumped from his seat, hit his head against the side of his car. He squinted and rolled his window down further. "Foster." He looked toward her apartment, to Marcus who stood in the safety of her door. "Right, you live here."

"Don't play stupid, Cal." She glared at him from under her oversized umbrella. "What are you doing?"

He shifted in his seat, leant toward her through the window under the safety of her umbrella. "Just enjoying some quiet time, love. Nothing more."

"Were you following me?" she seethed. "Cause that's low, Cal, even for you."

There was spite in her words. Her eyes were dark, and barely gleamed in through the night.

"I was doing no such thing," he lied. "Nice neighbourhood, love."

"You've been here before."

He ignored her interrogation, the malice in her tone. He lowered his head to peer toward her door and waved. "Oi! 'Ello, Marcus! Nice night then?"

He watched Marcus shake his head and cross his arms at his chest.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" She pushed from the car and turned from him to start the walk back to her apartment.

He grinned. "Thank you, darling. But you haven't had me yet." She turned back to him, shot daggers through the sheets of rain. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he quipped.

"Go home, Cal."

He inhaled deeply and blinked, feeling relief as the rain fell on his face. "I won't give up on you, you know." It was his poor excuse, his selfish attempt to draw her in. It was the best he had.

"You're kidding yourself, Cal. There's nothing left." She turned and the water twirled around her with the quickness of her rotation.

He watched until she disappeared through her apartment, until she drew in her umbrella and closed the door behind her.


	5. Turning Tables

_Turning Tables_

* * *

The knocking on his window startled him. His black coat fell from the front of him to pool in his lab.

He rubbed his eyes and peaked through the opening of the fogged driver's side window.

Marcus stood beside the car, briefcase in hand. He made no attempt to hide his disheveled appearance. His hair was damp, and stuck up in places. His tie was loose, shirt untucked. He still wore the clothes from the previous night.

"Bloody hell," Cal groaned as he sat upright. He coughed slightly and licked his dry lips.

"She wants to see you," he said gruffly not waiting for confirmation, and turned to leave.

Cal looked toward her apartment, swallowed the lump in his throat as he caught her eye and reached for the door handle. She was standing in the lane way, arms folded in front of her.

The early light tried its best to peak through the dark grey clouds that sat heavy in the sky. They pushed into the morning and separated, making way for the new day. Remnants of the night's rain storm clung to the grass, to tree leaves, in perfectly formed droplets. The trees released their burden, here and there, dripping onto the wet ground. Puddles lined the walkway as he followed her, slinked behind her, watching her hips roll with each step. She was trying her best to hold her authoritative stance, her power in the moment as she lead him to her doorway, feet pushed into red clogs.

She climbed the small step and pushed her door open, holding it for him as he entered behind her.

"Thought I told you to go home," she said closing the door, turning the lock. He watched her hands linger on the heavy wood.

"Forgot my way, love."

She sighed and pushed her shoulder length hair from her face. "Were you drinking, Cal?"

"I wish."

She nodded and looked to her hands, twirled her thin ring around her finger. She looked back up to him. She looked tired, emotionally drained, and he wasn't sure what the next moments would entail.

"Tea?" she asked softly.

Cal grinned and moved to kick off his boots, already loose from the long night spent in his car. "I'm dying for a cup."

She removed her clogs and sunk to her own height, and there was something completely peaceful in the moment for him. He hadn't remembered the last time she had been without heels; her natural height. He smiled to himself as she moved to the back of her apartment, to her kitchen.

His barefooted Gillian.

He followed obediently.

He was comforted by her, by the loose fitted shirt that draped over her body, that left one shoulder freckled and exposed. Her cotton pants hung loose from her hips, and they danced around her tightened calf muscles.

"What?" she asked, removing the cozy from over her teapot. She dipped the spout into a white china cup.

"Nothing," he said letting the sleepiness steal his words. He propped himself onto a stool in front of her, at the island where she stood. "Just watchin'."

"I told you to stop that," she said softly. "It's creepy."

"Then I'm admiring."

She removed the spout from the cup and placed the teapot down. "Don't..." she begged, releasing it as a whisper.

"Long night?"

"Cal..." She looked up to him as she handed him the teacup. There was a warning behind his name on her lips.

"All right."

"Stop."

"Okay."

He brought the cup to his lips and took a large swig of the liquid. It burned his throat and he felt it move, warming its way down his insides. He grimaced slightly and she gave him a small smile.

"Hot?"

"Yeah."

"It's tea."

"Thank you," he said licking his lips, sucking in air. "For that."

She smiled again and turned her back to him, opening her fridge. "Hungry?" she asked with her head tucked inside the door.

"Famished!"

Cooled air filled the space around them as he hopped off the stool startling her. She turned quickly.

"Mind if I wash up?" he asked.

"No," she said relaxing her face. "You know where it's at."

He sauntered down her hallway, stopped outside the third door to his left. His hand pressed against the door's frame but he caught sight of the room at the end of the hall, the slightly parted door that begged him to draw near.

He peered inside and glanced around the room, stopped short as he took in her four-poster bed, the neatly pressed sheets. It's pillows were orderly, aligned perfectly as if from the cover of a magazine.

There were no signs of a late night visitor.

He imagined their bodies moving in the darkness, guided only by the faint light streaming from the hallway. Writhing shadows danced beneath egyptian cotton, moved in time to their heavy breaths; his groans, her moans.

Tongues lashed, flicked into contours of warmth and sweetness, as he dove into her again and again, drawing her nearer to climax, to the ecstasy and release she longed for, that he had craved since the first moment he laid eyes on her sultry form.

She would clutch to him, stare into his eyes as she crumbled into his muscular, tattooed arms.

She had hypnotised him, he reasoned. He was under her spell.

And now she was making him tea. Serving him breakfast. Like he belonged.

And the tides were turning...

And as he turned toward her bathroom, he noticed the bounce in his step, the lightening of his anxiety, remnants of a night spent in the cold alone.

The bathroom was fresh from a shower. Vanilla body scrub lingered in the air, and he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Warm, moist air mingled with the scent of Gillian, and he became mesmerised by the familiarity, and wrapped it around his aching heart.

She was busy flipping eggs when he returned to the kitchen and slinked to her side. She jumped as he placed his hands on her hips and the frying pan shook in her hand.

"Jumpy, love?" he questioned as he reached over the frying pan toward a plate of bacon.

She reached out to smack his hand before he could snatch a perfectly crisped piece.

"Over easy?" she asked and continued to flip the remaining egg in the pan without looking up to him.

"You know what I like," he said low and took a step into her, smelled the vanilla fragrance he was craving.

"Cal, please."

"What?"

"Stop this."

"Why?" he said. "Afraid you'll give in to me."

"I'm leaving you."

It was quick, to the point, and he took a step backward uncontrollably. The news gripped his gut, sank from his throat.

"Wha-?"

Her hands began to fly around, shot forward as her fingers flicked. Tears welled in her eyes. "I can't do this anymore. I can't handle it. You're suffocating, Cal." She pressed her hand to her chest and inhaled deeply. "I can't breathe."

"Look, love." He exhaled. "I'll drop the Marcus thing. Just say the word."

"I've already said the words, Cal. I'm moving on." She shook her head and the tears fell from her eyes, streamed down cheeks lined with freckles. "I'm doing this for me." She finally met his eyes, and he watched her blues drown in sorrow.

He placed a hand in his jeans pocket and gripped its liner. "Where will you go?"

She inhaled and her lips trembled. She blinked, released more tears. "There's an opening," she choked.

"Wha-?" Cal's brow furrowed. He was aware his voice was rising above the sizzling beside them, the eggs in the pan now unmonitored. "With him? With Marcus? With the bloody FBI?"

"They need me."

"I need you."

She scoffed and her lips pressed tightly together. "Figures..."

"That why you're doing this?" he spat. "To hurt me?"

"I told you why?"

"I can change." He took a few steps toward her, forced her back against the fridge.

She raised her hands to push against his chest. "You won't. That's the thing."

He leant into her until he could feel her breath thready on his face, and he reached forward to take her hips again. He brought his lips to her ear.

"I won't lose you," he promised. He pressed his cheek against hers, felt the salty stickiness greet his flesh. "Thank you for the tea."

He didn't look behind as he released her, as he moved toward her front door to slide into his boots. He missed her bringing her hands to her face as she fell to the floor, back sliding against the fridge door.

He missed her breaking down while he pulled on his coat and slammed her door shut; missed her curling into a ball on the tiled kitchen floor while the eggs continued to sizzle and burn in the pan above her.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon when Eli poked his head into Cal's office and found his boss with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his desk. Lights out in the room, a tumbler and a bottle of scotch sat in front of him.

"I've got the analysis Dr. Foster requested," he said hesitantly.

"She's not here," Cal said lifting his head, letting his hands trail down his face. "Bring it here."

Eli stepped toward him. "Do you need me to brief her when she comes in?"

Cal's eyes shook slightly. "I don't expect Foster today."

"No?" Worry shook his voice slightly. "She said it was kind of urgent."

"Oh and find some place to house Sarah, will you?" Cal said, ignoring Eli's inquisitive look.

"What do you mean?" Eli questioned. "She's getting a desk?"

"Yeah. A desk."

Eli balled his fist and tapped his leg slightly. "Do I need to remind you how long it took me to get my own desk?"

Cal glared. "Just get it done. No arguments, right?" He rose from his chair and turned from him, making his way into his library. "I owe her."


	6. Relinquish

_June 7th marks the anniversary of the airing of the second part of Season Two of Lie to Me. The good ol' days..._

_We celebrate today with fanfiction as this will forever be our Season Four..._

_Lie to Me Lives! _

_(and I miss it...)_

* * *

**For Endless... while I tuck you in to dream...**

* * *

_Relinquish_

* * *

"What the bloody hell is this?" Cal asked as he stormed into Gillian's office. The midday sun was doing its best to push through the small slits in the blinds behind her, where she stood free from her heels. In front of her, placed atop books and binders, were several opened cardboard packing boxes.

Gillian looked up slowly, knowing exactly what document Cal was referring to.

He held the sheet of paper in front of him, gripped it by an index finger and thumb. He wiggled it and watched as she rocked back on her heels and crossed her arms to her chest.

"It's a resignation letter, Cal. _My_ resignation letter." She rocked forward. "I'm assuming you are able to read it."

"Meow," Cal remarked and he walked toward her, moved around several boxes lining the floor in an organised display of her former office. Mementos, picture frames and glass work, lay in one box. Atop sat the recognisable picture of Gillian with her mother. He stopped as his sight fell on another framed photo. Gillian and Emily looked up at him, smiling from the opened cardboard box.

"Packing are we?"

"I am." She sighed and uncrossed her arms. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Thought I told you you're not leaving."

"I am. I can't help it if you won't accept it." She picked up a hard cover book and threw it aggressively into a box. "If you must know, I'm so sick and tired of this shadow I'm working from. This corner you've worked me into."

He smiled slowly as his lips curled with satisfaction. He slinked toward her, stalked her from head to toe. He licked his lips hungrily. "I'll work you in the corner."

She backed away before he could draw close and sheltered herself behind a large packing box. "I don't need you, Cal. I never have."

He continued to chase her slowly, like she was prey he knew he would have. "But I need you," he oozed. The words tumbled from his mouth sultrily. He bared them easily, no longer wishing to hide behind a mask of sadness.

"And it's wonderful that you've finally figured this out, Cal. But it's too late." She straightened as he reached her finally, pushed her back against the bookcase. "I did it. It's done."

"I won't accept this."

"It doesn't matter now." Her breathing was becoming thready, and she closed her eyes slightly as he pushed his middle against her. "I'm branching out," she reaffirmed as she fought against his heated advances. "I'm working for me now."

"I won't accept your resignation." He kept his voice low, sultry.

She smiled, grinned from ear to ear. She shook her head slowly.

"Are you getting something from this?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about?"

"There's something in this," he said pointing toward her mouth. He edged toward her again, and took her elbow quickly within his grasp so she could not pull away. He pressed his thumb against the corner of her mouth.

She shivered slightly as he grazed her skin, but she held his eyes, willed them not to shake.

"I told you there's nothing," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse and she cursed the shaking in her bones, willed the anxiety she felt in her belly to subside.

But he only grinned at her and slinked closer. The fingers on his other hand edged forward, tempting to take her hand.

"See," he said cocking his head, running his thumb over the line of her chin. "Your words say one thing, but this mouth of yours..." He leant towards her. "It says something else."

"You think so?"

Her hot breath traced his lips. She smelled sugary sweet. "I know so," he purred. He reached her eyes again. He dropped his hands from her face and pushed them deep within his pockets.

"You want the truth?" she asked, irritation sitting thickly in her tone as he pulled from her. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her face. She blinked slowly.

"I'm all ears."

She ran her eyes over his own, willed them not to drop to his lips which he licked. "You infuriate me."

He bared a toothy grin and she budged as her eyes fell to his lips. "Heavy."

"But it's the truth."

"See?" He leant forward again. "I don't think it is. There's more to it."

She slinked away from him and her shoulder brushed his. Her face was turning red. She placed another heavy book into the box in front of her. "Think whatever you want, Cal." She looked to her clock on the wall. "I'm late. I don't have time to stand here and have you try to analyze the demise of our relationship." She reached forward and took the clock from the wall, placed in another box. "Because I can save you the trouble. It's you."

"There's no demise, love." He was calm. He straightened his back. "You won't leave."

She grabbed her coat, her purse, and looked up to him. Her eyes narrowed for a moment and her brow furrowed. "You're so sure, aren't you?" she spat.

"I am. Perfectly so."

* * *

She scoffed at him and turned her head. Hips swinging, Cal watched as she walked away from him, yet again.

She could swear she felt his eyes on her in the days that followed.

She had walked the hallways of The Lightman Group while she wondered if it would be the last time for her to walk this hall, click her heels on that particular tile. Had he been lurking around the corner? Had he seen her walk by? Had he noticed the change in her step, the swing in her hips that had only been for him?

She had felt his longing stare when she picked up her usual morning coffee. She felt an unfamiliar sadness within her when she had to correct her order and remove his tea from the purchase. She had looked down at her hand at that moment, felt the familiar weight as she held the correct change for the two beverages. She handed the woman a ten instead, and woefully placed the change into her change purse.

No matter where she walked, she felt his eyes on her.

To the staff parking lot at night. To the brightly lit streets of D.C.. To her neighbourhood as she passed familiar houses, their residents long in bed, asleep in the arms of their loved ones. She would look for his familiar headlights in her rearview mirror, wondered if he had eaten, if she should invite him in.

But when she looked for him, he was nowhere to be seen.

Even now as she reached down to pick up The Lightman Group edition coffee mug, she wondered if it would be a last time for a moment such as this. The mug idea had been hers; a memento for when new clients had arrived. It was a small token, a professionalism that she had instilled into their work. Or so she had thought.

_His work_, she corrected herself.

He had recognised this, hadn't he?

She had sworn she wouldn't do it, but she did.

She took the steps toward his office in the late hours of the evening, sensing he was there, sensing she could say something to ease her troubled mind; to rid herself of some of the guilt that was plaguing her final moments within The Lightman Group's walls.

She found his office quiet, vacant, with all lights out but for one in his library. She walked quietly, slowly toward the adjoining door, took the final steps on the balls of her feet so as not to disturb him.

But as she poked her head within the door, she found it too was empty.

She sighed and told herself quietly that she would have to hold onto her guilt for yet another day. He would have to come out of hiding eventually. They would have to meet.

She entered through the door and stepped onto one of the lavish afghan rugs that lined the floor in parts. The room was different without him in it. It seemed stiff, without the warmth and comfort she usually felt within it.

She walked toward a small shelf that housed a few of his collectibles; a picture of England's 1966 Championship squad, a model of a '68 Aston Martin DB6 Volante, and a photo of Cal and Emily.

She picked up the frame with Cal and Emily and held it her hands. She smiled at the happy faces, at Cal as he had put Emily into a headlock and was messing her hair.

She felt something on the back of the frame, felt the familiar glossy paper as she turned the frame in her hands. Her eyes grew wide with surprise.

Taped to the back was a single photo of Gillian and Sophie. Gillian held the precious girl's hand toward the camera, a look of pure joy lined both their faces.

The pain gripped her heart suddenly as the memories came tumbling back to her. A truly happy time. A truly happy Gillian Foster.

The tears fell from her eyes and she wiped them away with the back of her hand as she replaced the framed photo back into its place.

The sound of her cellphone ringing caused her to jump. She read the display and put it to her ear.

"Hello Marcus," she said with shaky voice, and she cleared her throat in an attempt to regain a part of her composure.

"Gill? What's wrong?" came the voice on the other end of the line.

"Nothing," she lied. "I'm fine."

There was silence for a moment, then Marcus continued. "I was thinking dinner. Tonight. Maybe Thai?"

She cleared her throat and began to move from Cal's library, exiting quickly into the adjacent hallway. "I think. I'd like to stay home tonight." Her heels echoed down the empty hallway. "Come over," she urged. "Be hungry."

* * *

Pang. Prick. Touch. They all seemed to liquify in front of her, fuelled her aching desire for release. She smiled as the familiar fever began to course through her body, gripped her middle, caused the world in front of her to turn white.

She pushed herself further, ground her hips upward hurriedly wanting nothing more than to seek the rush she longed for. Her body was aching, troubled as she willed herself to dive in, to wrap herself in her passion. She lifted her legs upward and gripped to his sides, pushed her knees and thighs against him, locking their bodies together.

Their rhythm quickened, kept pace with their hurried heartbeats, their breaths which filled the room with a searing lust.

Her desire rocked within her like a torrent, knocked her over the edge. Her hands flew from his muscular arms, and reached out to grip the sheets as the pleasure plagued her body again and again.

"Oh God. Cal."

Marcus froze above her suddenly and she looked up with wide eyes.

"What?" she questioned, gasping.

Marcus shook by his elbows, but he flexed and locked them, pulled his sticky belly from her. "What did you say?"

She racked her brain, blinked quickly as she tumbled quickly from her white haze. "Oh God?"

He pulled from her quickly and rolled to one side of the bed leaving her sweaty form behind. "Cal." Marcus seethed as he quickly pulled on his boxers and jeans. "You called me Cal."

She watched as he reached to the floor to pick up the remainder of his clothes and he stormed from the room without looking back at her, without uttering another word. She felt the cool air touch her skin as her bedroom door opened.

_Cal..._

_Had she...?_


	7. Check

_Check_

* * *

Only a few hours, she thought. Only a few hours until she would be sitting across from Marcus at his favourite restaurant, apologising for her outburst, her sudden lack of control.

There had to be a reason, she told herself. There had to be a reason for her to say his name in the heat of passion.

_Cal..._

It had to be from all the stress he was putting her through lately. It had to be from all the late nights, all the coffees, all the telephone calls, all the worrying, all the drinks, the family dinners.

It had to be from all those times that she called his name. From all the times he was the first person she greeted in the morning, the last person she said goodnight to at the end of the day.

_He was..._

The sadness hit her quickly, rolled over her heavily and sucked the air from her lungs. She had to do this, she reaffirmed. She had to make this stand.

He was sucking the Gillian Foster from her. He was bleeding her dry.

Marcus was providing her options. He was letting her branch out, letting her become what she was meant to be; someone in control.

Not some powerless person following Cal's every beck and call. And she saw it. Saw it on the faces of her peers. Of their clients. She was Cal's pocket toy; his Foster that he could use in whatever way suited him best. Just another one of his pawns in his little game.

He had never seen it. Hadn't seen all she brought, all she offered; her worth

Too caught up in his own glory of catching the bad guy. He never noticed her standing beside him, waiting to pick up the pieces, the dissolution.

And just when her cheeks were beginning to heat up, when the tape of the last box was cut and she had placed it in her neatly formed pile and looked up, she found him standing in her doorway, hands in his pockets, a Lightman lean, for her.

"Looks like you're just about ready," he remarked as he pushed himself from the door frame and shuffled into the room.

"I am."

If he was trying to hide his sadness, to mask his spite for this current arrangement, he was doing a poor job of it. Rarely did she get to see this unsheathed Cal Lightman; this man who was baring his soul to her now.

"Can I buy you a drink, Gillian?" he asked as he swayed in one spot. "For old time's sake?"

She had the inclination to say yes, to run to him, to wrap herself in his arms and tell him she was sorry. Sorry for all the harsh thoughts, for all the pain she was causing him. But she fiddled with her fingers instead, and pushed her hair from her sweaty forehead. "I don't think that's wise."

And there it was; the slight hitch in her voice that could tell him otherwise, that gave her away, left her naked in front of him. She cursed herself silently for baring too much. He could see through her when he wanted to.

"Reconsider."

"I can't. I won't."

"You should. Let me take you out. Let me show you off."

She watched as he raised his eyebrows slightly, as the pleading spread across his face. He was cornering her, and the sly grin beginning to form across his face told her that he was sure he would win, would suck her toward him yet again.

She toyed with her hair again, pushed it from her cheek this time. Her eyes opened slowly as she realised her mistake; her dead giveaway.

"Come with me." His voice lowered to a deeper, and he drawled on, thick like caramel sauce.

"I won't go."

"Well, that's a lie."

"I'm sorry?" she released. "What now?"

"You're a bloody liar," he sauntered towards her. "You're flattered and you want to go."

He had seen it; her dead giveaway. "Excuse me," she seethed.

"Oh you heard me, love." He was moving closer to her now. Stalking her in that Lightman fashion she had grown accustomed to. Did he know how easily she could fall victim to it? Did he notice how she would immediately start panting for him when he looked at her?

And thus, their dance would begin again.

"Why are you ignoring this?" He lowered his voice further, let his words fill the space between them. His hands ghosted over her hips. Their knees knocked together.

"What?" she whispered.

"The look in your eyes now." He touched her lower lip. "The quiver in your lips." He pushed her back against the edge of her desk and her hands reached back to brace herself. "What do you want, Gillian?"

"I don't know." She barely released it, and there was the hitch in her voice again. It was something that could entice her, something that she could work with.

He was reading her like a book.

"Yes, you do."

"I..."

"Just say it," he returned hot and needy.

Her eyes found his lips and she could feel the growl start low within her belly, and in that moment she felt her chest push forward, and her shoulders relax for the first time in what felt a long time. "You," she managed in a low whisper. "I want you."

He reached her lips in an instant, and her mouth opened for him without restraint.

Her lips pumped with blood as she moved them with his, and she relished at the sensation of his scruff on her tongue as she kissed, and sucked, and flicked her tongue over his jaw. Her hands reached forward, gripped the sides of his body and she drew him into her, dipped her fingers into the front of his jeans. Her lips left his jaw, and she placed her sweaty forehead against his chest, looked down to admire her work.

She toyed with him, trailed her fingers over the bulge in his jeans, and she let herself smile, seduced by the effect she was having on him.

"You seem hungry," he breathed against her.

"Famished."

She undid the belt of his jeans, and unzipped them so she could dive in with experienced fingers. She pricked and prodded until she wrapped warm hands around him, felt him pulsate against her palm.

"And you?" she asked looking up to him, eyes glossed over with seduction.

"Me?" He dipped his head, hovered over her lips as his eyes trailed the curve of her cheek. "I could devour you in a heartbeat."

She tightened her grip on him slightly, which caused him to fall forward to take her lips again. Wet, warm tongues inched forward craving more and more with each taste. Lips locked and released, found earlobes and cheekbones. They groaned and growled against one another, rocked together until Cal pulled her hand from her work.

Instantly, shock spread across her face as the pressure in his hand intensified and he turned her around, holding her back tightly against him.

"So what is it you want exactly?"

"I told you." She breathed heavily. "You."

His fingers slithered over her body, and his tongue found her earlobe, suckled it while he began to unbutton her blouse.

"Oh God, Cal."

She closed her eyes and his fingertips met her skin, as he gently ghosted over her chest to find the soft flesh, and nipples which grew hard with the slightest of touch.

He kissed her neck while he played with her, teased her as he released her breast. He trailed her neck with his tongue, removed the final buttons of her blouse and pulled the fabric from her shoulders suddenly. He unclasped her black laced bra, and pulled it from her arms. He let it fall to the floor with her discarded blouse, and removed his t-shirt in a single motion to add it to the pile.

He wrapped his hands around her, cupped each breast as he pulled his chest to rest flush against her back. She was warm, heated against his body and with each quickening pant that fell from her lips, the lust stirred and swirled quicker within his gut.

"Now... here...," she whispered and leant back against him to open her eyes to find him staring back at her. Her hands snaked behind her back to stroke him over his jeans.

He opened his mouth and closed his eyes as she dipped into his pants again, found him hot and needy.

He released his grasp on her breasts and trailed the back of his fingers down the sides of her body. He felt her shiver excitedly under his touch. Slowly, he inched her skirt up her body to rest around her waist.

He grinned as she ground slowly against him, as his fingertips played with the thin strings of her laced thong.

"You make it so easy, darling," he said quickly while he pushed her forward on her desk with strong hands.

She fell forward, and her hands reached out to brace herself while she pressed her bare breasts to the cool glass table top of her desk. Sweaty, heated palms smeared over the glass leaving translucent tracks behind in their wake.

And she groaned happily as he fell to his knees behind her, tugging at her thong. He slid is slowly down her legs, memorising every inch, every lustrous curve...

* * *

She woke to a gentle hand on her shoulder, to the slight shake of her arm.

"Gillian..." Cal called to her softly, reached down to take her hand.

She was curled to one end of her long office couch, knees tucked up into her chest. She rolled her head towards him, blinked groggily waking from her intense dream.

"Oh," she said on a whim, and moved her hand out from beneath her head. She wiggled her fingers, tried to regain some of the feeling back in her arm. She licked her lips.

"Good dream," he asked taking a seat on the small table in front of her.

"Yeah," she remarked truthfully. "I guess... I passed out."

"You must have been tired." It was the first time he looked around the room, his eyes falling upon empty bookshelves and taped cardboard packing boxes. He distracted himself with his fingers and waited for her to sit up. "Looks like you're just about ready."

She took a moment too, scanned the room remarking at its unfamiliarity. Glistening white, vacant shelves stared luminously back at them. They both noticed the apparent echo in the room as their voices bounced off empty walls.

She rubbed her hands over her face quickly, pushed a lock of hair behind one ear. "Oh my god," she turned her watch on her wrist. She squinted. "What time is it?"

"Quarter past five."

"Crap," she released guiltily. "I'm late."

"Marcus again?" Cal asked.

She turned back toward him, heard the sadness in his tone loud and clear.

"Yeah," she said pushing her bare feet into her heels on the floor. She stood shakily, adjusted her skirt. She moved across the room quickly and leant down to take her purse from her empty desk. She paused as the vivid dream came back to her, and she had to blink away the images; her sweaty hands as they smeared over the glass table top, her hips as they backed up into him.

She turned but could not look up at him afraid he could see her, read the innocence that she pushed down from her cheeks. "It's an apology of sorts."

Cal stood quickly and moved towards her. His feet were silent as he paced. "What's he done now?" Spite flicked at the corner of his mouth. He clicked his teeth.

She inhaled quickly and looked to his hands as he pushed them into his pockets.

His were the hands that could hold her, grip her tightly, hands that could heal her. She could break in those hands, she thought. They were hands that could make her forget all her tomorrows, all the past.

_If only..._

She straightened her brow. "Not him. Me."

He cocked his head towards her. "What could you possibly have to apologise for, love?"

She released a short breath and let the awkward smile spread to her cheeks. "More than you can imagine."

"I have a great imagination."

She pressed her lips tightly together and willed the giggle to dissipate within her. "I'm sure you do."

He rolled his eyes over her face, searched her while his brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

He took another step towards her, caused her to take a step back as they began their familiar dance. "What?" he repeated.

"It's just, I think I ..."

But she could not finish the sentence. Could not tell him that she thought she could use a shower.

_A cold shower..._

* * *

He could watch her for hours. Watch each rise and fall in her expressions; each happy crease, each happy line. He could get lost in those times; the happy moments when her smile would melt the world around him into nothingness.

He preferred those moments. Happiness suited his Gillian Foster much more than the moment he was bearing witness to as he leant against the wall beside the elevator doors. He was lost in this moment displayed in front of him, was quiet while he watched the event play out. Even the noise around him seemed to tumble into a white haze of static and slow motion. He was out of sight for the moment, lost in the sea of people as they busied the office building's ground floor. A few would look his way and wonder why he looked on a couple a fair distance away.

But could they tell? Could they see the hurt within him as he looked on? Could they see how he fought against all his urgency to run to her? To play the rescuer? Her knight in shining armour?

He watched as the two lovers went about their fiery argument. The flailing of her hands told of her frustration which rang true with the lines on her face. She held her fists tightly and her knuckles burned white from the raw emotion.

It was clear Gillian Foster had lost herself in the moment, clearly unaware of her public display. She was spirited, animated, so unlike the reserved Gillian he had grown accustomed to.

Were the tethers breaking, he wondered. Would she finally let go?

She raked her hands through her hair, pushed forward to touch Marcus' chest. He pushed her hands away, could not look her in the eyes while she searched his face, tried to plead her case, so it seemed. It was a battle she was losing, and losing quickly.

Marcus was taking retreat, and he began taking steps toward the office building's large revolving glass doors.

"Marcus, please! Let me explain!"

Gillian's shriek pulled Cal from his white haze and he inhaled sharply.

Marcus paused, shook his head, and turned from her. He pushed on the revolving doors and was gone in a whirl of people.

Gillian brushed her hands over her face, and as if sensing his gaze burning her frame, turned to face him.

He did not budge as he watched the rage start to boil over her freckled skin. When it reached her face, and the fury burned in her bright eyes, she shook her head and moved swiftly across the floor. Her heels clicked as she neared him, but she turned abruptly and pushed on the door to the emergency stairs.

He left his perch and sauntered after her, pushing on the door as it closed shut behind her.

"Gillian!" he called out and his voice quickly echoed back at him as it bounced off cement walls. He heard each click of her heels as she climbed, could tell when she reached a landing. "Gillian! Wait!" he barked again as he climbed the stairs after her two at a time.

She quickened her pace as he drew near and she stopped long enough to yell down at him. "Leave me alone, Cal!"

Again her heels quickened. Again she hit another landing.

He was gaining on her now. Another flight and he would surly be on her, he calculated.

But that was when he heard it; heard her cry out, swear as she feel forward on the stairs just in front of him.

He was on her in a heartbeat, calling out her name as his hands wrapped around her waist, as he pulled her a few stairs up the sit on the landing.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," she cried and he reached down to her right leg which she was extending. He pulled an open-toed patent leather pump gently from her foot. His eyes found her foot which shook from the trauma, her knee which was cut and bleeding. But his eyes stopped on her face, to the sad eyes that looked on the shoe in his hand. Her brow was stitched together.

"Fuck... No...," she cried, and the tears welled in her eyes, and she reached forward to take her pump from his hand. It was then when she turned it, that he saw the reason for her sorrow:

A patent leather pump with its heel barely hanging on.


	8. Surrender: Checkmate

_Surrender: Checkmate_

* * *

"Christ, my ankle," she moaned.

She barely had enough time to think, barely enough time for her cries to hit the cement walls before he shoved her shoe deep into his pocket, and reached forward.

It seemed so effortless, the way her drew her into his arms and climbed the stairs. He barely puffed a sigh, barely released a short breath as he hit the landing to their office.

"Cal, please," she whispered as she pushed against him. "Please put me down."

What would her coworkers think? How would they perceive her as she was cradled in his arms, carried lightly over the threshold of their office which they had built together.

As if hearing her silent pleas, he let her fall carefully from his arms, feathering her to the floor to rest on one foot. She held the other high, gratifyingly leant against him as he helped her towards the giant, heavy doors of their office.

"Oh my god!" came the worried voice of Anna as they inched slowly passed the reception of The Lightman Group.

"Ice, Anna," Cal ordered as he helped Gillian limp down the hall. "Please."

She was in his office quickly, and moved to his study to sit on the Victorian daybed that sat against one wall. He propped pillows behind her as she lay back to rest against one end.

His touch feathered against her knee as his hands travelled her leg, down to her ankle where he carefully examined her.

"I'm fine, Cal," she sighed as he lifted her legs to place a pillow beneath her feet.

Anna poked her head in the door and looked to Gillian as Cal inched towards her. "Is she all right?"

He took the ice from her hands and turned back to Gillian. "Thank you," he said.

"I'm fine," Gillian gasped as the iced bag made contact with her skin. "I just twisted it a bit."

Anna remained frozen in the doorway, fingers gripping the thin frame.

Cal looked up to Anna from his perch on the side of the daybed. "Thank you, Anna," he repeated, but this time there were silent instructions behind his words.

Anna's eyes grew wide in the dimmed light and she nodded like an obedient child and turned to leave.

Gillian smiled as she looked back to Cal. "Really," she sighed. "This is too much, Cal. I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that." He lifted the ice from her ankle and the air in the room quickly warmed her now icy skin.

"I swear. I'm fine."

His fingers traced over her ankle. His palm opened and wrapped gently around her foot. "And here?" he questioned.

"Fine."

Both hands greeted her now as he leant forward. Fingertips grazed her skin on either side of the calf. "Here?" His voice lowered.

"Yes," she choked. "It's good." She cleared her throat. "I'm fine."

His thumbs found her knee, outlined the scrape there; red and raw. "Here?" He met her eyes.

She swallowed slowly, could swear he could here the liquid travel her throat. "That's a bit sore, actually."

"It is?"

She nodded.

He fell quietly to his knees beside her, palms moving to rest on either side of her calf muscle. He held her eyes, leant forward to place a kiss to her knee. It seemed as if his lips lingered for a moment, and she closed her eyes unaware of his hands which had moved slowly up her leg.

He pulled away to watch her breathing, watch her eyes as they fluttered and closed. His hands cried to him with every inch of new skin explored, as they dipped and caressed. Carefully, he lifted her feet, removed the pillow and sat, resting her feet on his lap.

She opened her eyes and inhaled slowly, taken by the warmth in his eyes.

The ice water dripped from the plastic encasement, down her foot to linger at her ankle. She watched him watching the droplet and he licked his lips. If it was from enticement, she wasn't sure, but he placed a careful finger to her foot and trapped the drop with his fingertip before it tumbled to his lap. His eyes lingered on every curve of her leg, and he took his time to trail her calf, her knee, the skin which he could still feel on his lips.

He would never let himself forget it, he vowed silently.

He never looked up to her. Never bothered to search for permission as his eyes, as his fingers trailed carefully over her smooth skin.

He would take this moment and enjoy it. Even if his fingers would morn the loss when it came time to part from her skin.

Milky, creamy, freckled; his eyes took in every inch. She felt the warmth radiating from his touch, the electricity that seemed to pool from his eyes on her flesh.

It was a marvel to her. A mere dream. And the seconds seemed to drip slowly, seemed to fill the room in its silence. She was loosing control, she thought quietly. He was finally reining her in.

But what would that mean? What would _they_ think? Could he see the weakness in her now as his fingers inched slowly over her inner thigh, ever higher?

Could he feel the fire in her gut? Could he see the way every inch of her body was pulling toward him, gravitating toward him as if by some impenetrable force?

And there it was; as clear as day.

So she surrendered to the weight of it, the pull of it, and in her weakness, she felt compelled and gripped to the feeling low in her gut. She released her pride and let the shiver course over her skin, let him see it, see her.

"Take me," she said in her weakness, let him hear her, the way her voice shook from the raw emotion traversing her body.

She blinked and the desire burned in her eyes; dark and brooding.

He made no assuring nod, made no claim to her. Instead he let his hands trail from her thigh, down over the sides of legs, and he moved out from beneath her feet.

She thought he was moving from her, and she cursed her pride silently, cursed herself for letting this much time pass before she gave into him.

And now he was leaving her.

But his lips pulled tightly and she saw the joy on his face. Clearly he was loving this side of her, how she was drowning in the heat he elicited from her.

"Cal..." She lifted herself from the pillow behind her head, but he quickly leant forward and cupped her cheek with his left hand. He looked to her mouth, trailed his thumb over her lower lip.

She parted her lips for him and closed her eyes, enchanted with the gentleness of his touch, the softness of his eyes. Suddenly, his hand fell from her face and he left her.

She opened her eyes and looked up to see him edge towards the exit to his study, to the hallway busy with passersby.

"Cal..." she repeated.

He turned slowly, lifted his index finger to his lips, and with his other hand, turned the lock on the door. He moved across the room, never taking his eyes from her, and locked the adjoining door to his office, securing them safely away from unsuspecting visitors.

He moved slowly across the room, and she felt her cheeks flush; the redness rose, spread over her chest.

Did she reek of desire, she wondered. Her chest began to rise with the quickening of her heart.

He placed one knee between her legs and hovered above her.

She could swear the only sound in the room was the rasping of her breath, the gripping of her hands to the couch beneath her.

He reached down, picked up the jewelled pendant she wore around her neck. He rolled it between his finger and thumb, relished at finally being able to hold it. He memorised its texture, its weight. He let it fall gently against her chest. He lingered, trailed the top curve of her breast with the backside of his finger.

"Your breath is thready, Doctor Foster," he declared. His voice oozed with intensity.

"That's all I get?" Her voice was cracking, weak from her raging thirst. "_Doctor_ _Foster_?"

He smiled, lips tightly together, and trailed his fingertips across her temple. "Gillian..." Her name was velvety smooth on his lips. "You're a bloody drug, Gillian." His honesty took her by surprise and her breath caught in the back of her throat. "It's like I'm lost. Can't breathe without you." He touched her chin, held her eyes. "I can't handle it when you're not around me. I can't have you with any one else, Gillian. You need to be mine." He leant closer to her, was careful to hover above her. "I won't have it any other way."

She welcomed his lips, and was relieved by the weight of them. The consciousness of her foot melted away, dissolved like sugar as his tongue flicked against hers. Her elbows weakened and she fell to the pillow again, taken by the carefulness of his actions. Liquid desire coursed through her veins and she lost control, let the weightlessness take her. She was putty in his hands, naked and exposed in front of him.

He pulled away slowly, and she felt the hunger pull in her belly, draw her toward him again, and she lifted her head from the pillow to kiss him.

She took his face, pulled him down toward her. Her fingers wound through through the back of his hair.

He chuckled low and it resonated in her mouth. It was a sound, a pitch she had never heard before. He was pleased, she thought happily. It was a reaction she had induced.

He pulled away again, drew a groan from her. He looked hungrily down her body, and her hips danced instinctively.

"How's the foot?" he asked.

She smiled looking over his lips. "What foot?"


	9. Engame

_Endgame_

* * *

"We should get it looked at," Cal whispered as her lips found his neck. He closed his eyes. He could taste her on his lips, was completely surrounded by her scent. She was taking him over, inch by inch, as her tongue trailed.

But it wasn't enough, and like an unquenchable thirst, he had to have more of her.

"I told you, it's fine," she reassured him, edged him on with the quickness of her kiss.

Her lips were smooth as they danced against him. It was as if they had rehearsed it a thousand times before. Each one knew the steps, knew how to fall into line, into the rhythm. She was perfect, he remarked quietly as her teeth found his earlobe.

She felt comfortable beneath him, as if his hands were meant to grace her shape. They fit perfectly over her breasts, held her sides with ease, gripped her hips. She wanted him to explore every inch, claim what she was giving to him.

She arched her back and looked down to his hand as if begging it to begin its work. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, "Well don't stop now."

His hands did not move and instead he stared down at her, sighed a little.

"Cal..."

"Yeah, love?"

"What the hell are you waiting for?"

He smiled, almost unsure how to answer, and his brow stitched together. "You're so bloody perfect," he said truthfully. "I want to drink you in and savour this."

"You've had long enough," she ordered. "I want ravishment, Cal Lightman. I want to be pressed against you. I want it raw, sweaty. I need you to take me, all of me, and soothe this ache I'm feeling."

His smile turned slowly, and his teeth appeared shiny and white.

"What?"

He shook his head slightly. "I can't tell you how many times I imagined this. How you would feel..."

"And..." She tucked her fingers under his shirt, made contact with skin.

"You feel fuckin' incredible." He kissed her quickly. "I've always wanted you. Ever since..."

"Since?"

He didn't have the heart to tell her. To say he always knew she'd be his. That since the first moment he saw her, that there was something, some spark.

So he dove upon her, crashed against her, taking her lips heatedly.

Their breathing quickened, thickened, and warmed. Tongues lashed, hands moved, grazed, tugged at clothing until he found the front of her blouse, pulled quickly at her buttons exposing a red laced bra.

_Marcus was a bloody fool_, he thought, and the grin widened on his face. She reciprocated the smile and as if knowing instinctively, as if reading his mind, she narrowed her eyes on him.

"You're goddamn gorgeous, Gillian," he said as he lowered his head to suckle, lick and nip. She moaned softly under him, continued to arch her back guiding him from one breast to the other. She would release a breath when he tugged at the red lace and found her nipple, and took it between his lips. His tongue left trails on her skin.

Her scent was intoxicating, and it flooded him with desire. Her moans only edged him onward as he dipped beneath her skirt in search of further pleasure points. Goosebumps rose where he touched her, as he trailed her inner thigh and found more lace. He knew instantly it had to be matching red lace.

His red laced Gillian Foster.

He gently brushed against her panties, pricked carefully until she ground her hips against his hand. He would hold her eyes as he dipped, dove gently, lovingly between her folds. She smiled as he found her perfectly and her eyes fluttered.

He brought his lips to her ear. "You're mine," he whispered, hot breath reaching her slender neck.

Her hands tucked under his shirt and it was over his head in an instant. She moved out from under him, grudgingly pulled his fingers from his careful work.

She climbed on top of him and wiggled from her blouse, tossed it carelessly to the floor.

There was an added enticement of the passersby, the steady footsteps that trudged the hallway on this busy afternoon. It added to the heat of his flesh, to prickling of her skin and the way her groin yearned for him, the way her gut tightened as his hands pressed against her flat stomach. She pulled her skirt up her legs, let it pool at her waist and she reached behind her to release the clasp on her bra.

Her hair fell in front of her face as the bra was released and tumbled to the floor. She could have spent hours defining all the love in his face, the lust in his eyes as he took in her aroused, freckled skin

She rocked her hips, pushed down against his jeans hungrily. He instinctively lifted himself and she pressed her hands to his chest, pushed him back onto the day bed. She continued to grind against him, dance above him. She brought her hands to her breasts, to her hair, pulled back from her face. He moaned as the pleasure hit him.

She was doing everything right. She was his perfect fit.

He sat up quickly, gripped her hips and lifted them from the couch.

He found her lips again, felt her legs wrap securely around his waist. He walked them across the floor, as their tongues played together, as they breathed their hunger into each other's mouth.

He placed her onto the angled ladder of his bookcase, lifted her high enough and parted ways with her mouth. He unzipped and lowered her skirt, her panties, from her long legs. She giggled as he trailed her inner thigh with kisses, and reached up to grasp the railings of the step for support as he found her hot center. Lips parted, and her scent flowed over him. She gripped his head with her thighs, draped her legs over his freckled shoulders. He licked and teased and drank her in, suckled until she began to cry his name. His hands flew to her breasts as she came, and he took her nipples with his fingertips, and tugged gently. He climbed up her body, suckled them until her breathing returned and she opened her eyes.

They shared a moment as their eyes met, and he saw a calm within her for the first time in a long time, the peace that coursed through her body; a peacefulness he had caused.

He smiled, pleased with himself and she returned it, wiped a hand across her brow.

She moved down a step, lowered the zipper on his jeans and tucked delicate fingers inside his pants. She was on him in an instant, wrapping her lips around and sucking with long tight strokes. He moaned, and pushed into her mouth slowly. He reached down and lifted her hair from her face.

_His Gillian..._

He grunted quicker now, felt the familiar tug within him, and pulled from her mouth.

She looked up at him, licked her lips.

"C'mere, love," he oozed as he helped her up to face him. She pressed against him and he lifted her, wrapped her legs around his middle. He positioned himself, gained his footing, and she back to brace herself on the handrails.

He pushed within her slowly until he filled her completely, found a rhythm. The bookcase rumbled, shook with each thrust. Several books dislodged and fell to the floor. They paused in their movements, looked toward the noise and giggled together.

"Cal..." she instructed.

He took her arms again, wrapped them around his neck and carried her to the floor. He lowered them together, pushed hard within her as her back was placed flush with the Victorian rug beneath them. He welcomed the relief he now felt in his knees, the strength he had above her. She kept her legs wrapped around him, hypnotised by the air that he pushed from her with each thrust.

"Oh God," he moaned, and he leant forward to sink his teeth gently into her shoulder.

The haze began to trace across his vision. The white blur of ecstasy threatened to take him under, but he waited, gritted his teeth, as he watched the passion rise in her face. Her brow furrowed and released with pleasure, and his name was the only sound that escaped her lips. She arched her back and he fell on top of her in a sweaty mess.

It was moments before he could roll from her, rest beside her, two lovers lying on their backs looking up at books, and mementos on dark wood shelving.

He smiled. "Still hungry?"

She turned into him, happily found a place in the crook of his arm. "Completely satisfied."

He looked over at her, took a strand of hair which was matted to her forehead and pushed it behind her ear. "I could listen to you all day, love. All your little noises."

"My what?"

"Right down to your breathing. The way you called my name."

"At least I got it right this time," she remarked.

"What's that?"

She chuckled to herself, shocked slightly by her own truthfulness. "Cal..." His name sang from her lips. "I'll tell you later."

* * *

~fin


End file.
